Unstuck in Time
by vifetoile89
Summary: A short character study of Lena, and how a love of reading can grow, go dormant, and be reawoken over many years. Features Lena's mother, 'Slaughterhouse-Five,' and a love of horse books.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, nor the books that I mention here. If I inspire anyone to check them out, though, then I've done a good day's work.

When Lena was a little girl, she was just wild about horsies.

Unfortunately, she grew up in the heart of a great city – London, to be specific – which had its horses, but they were mostly reserved for pulling carriages, and money was tight all the time.

So instead of a pony, her mother got her a library card. Mrs. Oxton helped her little girl pick out a dozen books with horses on the cover, and Lena just _adored_ them. Every weekend for a year would find her in the library, poring over the latest adventure, friendship story, or mystery that starred horses and the girls who loved them.

Eventually, she read through every horse book – even those above her "suggested" age level – and grew restless. The Librarian suggested more adventures – _Harry Potter_ , _The Old Kingdom_ , _A Wrinkle in Time_ , _The Princess Bride_. Lena got hooked on thrilling quests for high ideals in faraway lands. Lena especially loved Tamora Pierce's _The Immortals_ quartet, with Wildmage Daine and her copper-colored magic. Lena would have loved to have had Wild Magic of her very own.

Be careful what you wish for…

Eventually, school and pilot training pushed reading out of the picture. Most days after training Lena was too tired to read a full sentence; much easier to plop onto the couch and turn on the telly. Plenty of time for books later.

Then there was the Slipstream accident –

and "reality" became as wispy as "fiction."

For a long time, it seemed to Lena –

that she was outside the world and trying to reach it –

like trying to read a book where the wind –

kept riffling the pages back and forth –

Then – Winston buckled the Chronal Accelerator onto her shoulder, and the world fell back into place.

But Lena would never be normal again.

Lena went into physical therapy and normal, head-shrinker therapy. Overwatch even flew Mrs. Oxton out from London to Gibraltar. Mrs. Oxton suggested animal therapy – horseback riding lessons, just what Lena had wanted as a little girl.

But that turned into a disaster – another one in the series that Lena's life had apparently become. The horses in the paddock clustered on the far side, as far from Lena as they could get. When she stepped into the stable, the horses screamed. They knew. They knew she was unnatural.

"It's just the noise of the Chronal Accelerator," Winston assured her. "We'll find a coldblooded horse sometime, nice and calm, just wait and see."

But Lena would not be comforted. Touching a horse, riding one to a gallop – just one more thing the Slipstream had taken from her.

Lena requested a week's leave after that. She and Mum flew to Seville, Spain, where they took in the sunshine, ate fresh oranges, and talked a lot about the past and the future. Lena bid good-bye to her Mum – "And thanks, Mum, for being there." – and she flew back to Gibraltar with a lighter heart.

And when she got to her room, she found a copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_ on her bed.

She always suspected it was Winston who left it there, but she was never totally sure.

That is, she was _mostly_ sure. Winston read almost constantly – "A mind needs books like a garden needs loam," was one of his favorite sayings, which she later learned was a paraphrase that mixed up _Game of Thrones_ with _Fahrenheit 451._ Typical Winston.

But she read _Slaughterhouse-Five_ , which was about a man named Billy Pilgrim who was "unstuck in time." And she really liked it. It was dark and horrified at humanity and very funny and deeply weird, and it struck a chord in her. And something that had been dormant for many years woke up again.

It always surprised newcomers to Overwatch, after they'd seen Tracer zipping hither and yon all over the base, giggling and chattering and running hell-for-leather when it was lunchtime, to spot her in a quiet corner, sitting _still_ , for hours on end, just _reading._ But that was Tracer, said those who knew her with a smile. Right when you think you've got her figured out, she surprises you yet again.

Lena, or Tracer – "Call me whatever you like, just don't ever call me 'late!'" – could recommend a book to anyone, was friends with librarians on three different continents, and, much to the exasperation of her commander, always brought a book with her, even on missions. She developed a particular taste for the weird and macabre – horror manga from Japan, magical realism from Latin America, your Haruki Murakami, your Terry Pratchett, and your Catherynne M. Valente.

Most of all, though, she liked to reread books she loved, and discover something new in them each time. It was nice to know that she was maturing and recognizing new levels in an old favorite. It was also nice to know that fiction was frozen in time, just like she was. Nice to have a home to come back to, even if only a paper one.


End file.
